#ive had this idea for a while but the last time i tried i hated it

[wolvietxt]

hiiiiiii jay!! ive been having an unhealthy sleeping schedule lately, so i just wanted to know what you think frank would do if he catches you up pulling an all-nighter cause of some uni work when he came home from one of his missions. most especially, when you tell him you’ve done it for three straight nights while he was gone…

FRANK knew something was off the second he stepped into the apartment. it was quiet, too quiet, but not in the way that usually meant safety. the tv wasn’t on, no music played softly from your phone, and you didn’t come running up to him the second he locked the door behind him.  

his gut clenched.  

he slipped off his boots, careful not to track any dirt or blood onto the floor, and listened. he heard it then - the faint sound of typing. quick, rhythmic, desperate.  

with a sigh, he followed it, walking toward the kitchen, where the glow of your laptop screen cast shadows across your face. papers were scattered everywhere, some crumpled, some covered in highlighter. empty redbull cans were scattered around the tabletop. a half-eaten granola bar sat next to an empty coffee cup, and another coffee was in your hand, fingers curled tight around it like a lifeline.  

you didn’t even notice him.  

“sweetheart.” his voice was low, firm.  

you startled, eyes snapping up. he saw the exhaustion in them instantly - red-rimmed, glassy, dark circles bruising your skin.  

“frank,” you breathed, blinking fast like you were trying to clear your vision.  

he didn’t move toward you just yet, but he looked you over, taking in the way your hands trembled around the coffee cup, the way your shoulders sagged under the weight of whatever you were doing.  

“what’re you doin’ up?” he asked, though he already had an idea.  

“just… finishing some stuff,” you mumbled, eyes darting back to your laptop. “it’s nothing, really.”  

he glanced at the time on the microwave. 4:12 a.m.  

his jaw ticked.  

“when’s the last time you slept?”  

you hesitated, biting your lip, and he knew right then you were about to say something he wouldn’t like.  

“um … a little bit, here and there,” you finally said, voice too soft, too small.  

frank sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “baby.”  

“it’s fine,” you tried to reassure him, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “i just needed to catch up on work. it’s been kinda crazy, and i thought, you know, since you were gone, i’d just - ”  

“how long?”  

your mouth opened, closed.  

he took a step forward. “how long you been doin’ this?”  

“…three nights.”  

his nostrils flared.  

“three damn nights?” his voice was sharper now, and you flinched. not out of fear, but because you knew how much he hated this - hated seeing you worn down, pushing yourself past your limits. you’d hate to see him disappointed in you but in your defence, you thought he’d be home a whole lot later.

“i just - i had to, frank,” you whispered. “i got so behind, and i didn’t want you to come back to me all stressed and falling apart, so i just - ”  

his hands were on you before you could finish, tugging you up and out of the chair, wrapping you up tight against him. you didn’t even realize you were crying until he sighed against your hair, feeling the dampness on his shirt.  

“sweetheart,” he murmured, voice rough with something heavy, something that made your chest ache. “you think i care ‘bout any of that? you think i want you doin’ this to yourself?”  

“i just wanted to keep up,” you sniffled, fingers fisting in his jacket. “i didn’t wanna be a mess when you got back.”  

he pulled back just enough to cup your face, thumbs brushing over your cheeks. his eyes, dark and tired but so damn full of love, locked onto yours.  

“you could be the biggest damn mess in the world, and i wouldn’t care. you hear me?” he said, low and firm. “don’t wanna come home to you runnin’ yourself into the ground. don’t wanna see you like this.”  

you nodded, lower lip trembling, and he groaned, pressing a kiss there, then another, then another, like he was trying to fix it, to erase the exhaustion, the stress, the weight you’d been carrying alone.  

“c’mon,” he muttered, tugging you toward the bedroom. “you’re done. no more of this.”  

“but - ”  

he shot you a look. “no buts. you’re gonna sleep.”  

you wanted to protest, but the second you hit the bed, exhaustion slammed into you like a tidal wave. you barely registered the weight of him next to you, pulling you against his chest, hand rubbing slow, soothing circles against your back.  

“gonna take care of you, sweetheart,” he whispered against your hair, voice soft, warm. “always.”  

and for the first time in three nights, you believed it.

ᰔ frank castle : @stvr-dust, @uncertified-doc, @erospecies

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[rottengurlz]

That guy

[gu6chan]

Not to be dramatic and point fingers but why is it that the worst people with no respect towards art or anything that doesn't involve mindless consumption for "the lore" always have to be drakengard 3 and nier fans. like i don't even try to look and search for things to complain about regarding them but somehow every stupid fucking thing in this fanbase comes back to them

[puppmeo]

Have you ever been assumed to be romantically attracted to someone and even just the thought of that makes you want to throw up . Anybody

[arolesbianism]

I should rly start eternal gales posting again I need to make sure the ppl who follow me know how much Tali and Aris make me to insane so that the isat au can have its full effect but alas I am allergic to drawing the human eg cast like 99% of the time and rn the only thing stopping that from being 100% is that I like fucking around with different art styles sometimes

[lewisvinga]

my strong girl | lewis hamilton x fem! chronically ill! reader

summary; after an incident during a race, y/n is sent to the hospital and is upset about missing his race after not attending races for months. fortunately for her, lewis is always understanding

fc; various girls on pinterest

word count; 1k

warnings; hospitals, needles, fainting

taglist; @namgification @louvrepool @locelscs @thehufflepuffavenger1 @minseok-smaus @goldenmclaren @ollieshifts @lavisenri @graciewrote @xoscar03 @c-losur3 @fall-bambi

note; requested ! lewis was so close to a podium i actually was so upset🙁🙁🙁 anyways, i tried to combine a few of the ideas into this without it being superrrr hectic

masterlist !

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“Are you sure you want to come? You don’t need to feel pressured to do so.” Lewis asked in the soft tone that always brought Y/n comfort.

She sighed as he helped her put on her blue Ralph Lauren cardigan. “I’m sure, Lew. I don’t want to miss your home race.” She huffed, watching him grab her white golden gooses.

“Just be careful today. I hate that I can’t be around you the whole time.” Lewis quietly said. He helps her out on her shoes, securely tying the white laces.

“I know, I’ll be careful. I promise.”

Y/n really tried her best to be careful. She only walked a few minutes to grab stuff around Lewis’ driver's room. If she went longer distances, she used her wheelchair and one of the girlfriends of the drivers would happily walk by her side to accompany her.

While Lewis was doing media duties before the race, she hung out with Carmen and Lily. The two girls had lunch but Y/n wasn’t hungry so she decided to not eat. A big mistake for her.

She could only chat with Lewis for a few minutes before he had to get into his car. A couple of good luck kisses later, and his car was being driven out of the garage for the warm-up lap.

Silverstone was always special. It was Lewis’s home race and most importantly, his last home race with Mercedes. He was starting in pole after a fantastic qualifying session. The rainy weather allowed him to push the car to its limits.

Y/n started to feel a bit strange, like something was up but she ignored it for anxiety as the race began. Lewis had a fantastic start to the race and maintained being in first.

Around halfway through the race, Y/n felt well enough to get up from her wheelchair in the usual spot in the back of the garage. Although she usually refrained from walking due to getting tired so easily as a result of her illness, she decided that she felt well enough to at least a couple of steps in.

It was the final five laps and Lewis was still in first with a large gap between him and Charles, his future teammate, who was in second. However, instead of feeling joy about the British driver leading the race and being close to his 104th win, she started to feel like something was off.

Y/n needed to sit back down but her wheelchair was in the farthest corner of the Mercedes garage. Carmen had called out her name in concern but it sounded muffled as she struggled to stand upright. Before she knew it, everything went dark.

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The sound of beeping and the feeling of a familiar pair of fingers rubbing over her hand was what Y/n first noticed as she gained consciousness. The bedsheets crinkled as she slowly moved around, hearing a soft shush as she whined.

“Easy there, my love.”

Her eyes fluttered open and she’s met with Lewis’s deep brown eyes. She immediately noticed he was in a pair of sweats with a trophy sitting by his side.

“Did I miss it?” She asked with a raspy voice. She knew the answer of course. A wave of guilt washed over her. Lewis immediately noticed her furrowed-up eyebrows as she glanced at the iv sticking out of her hand.

“I care more about whether or not you’re okay, my love.” He sighed, gently cupping her cheek to make her look at him. “This win was for you, my strong girl.”

“Not strong enough to last 5 minutes standing up.” Her angry mumble made him let out a chuckle. He leaned over and softly kissed her cheek.

“Doctors said you had low blood sugar. You hit your head, no concussion but they want to keep you here overnight just in case something happens due to your illness.”

Y/n huffed at the mention of staying overnight at the hospital. Sure, she was used to it due to her illness, but she just wanted to be in the comfort of her home in the arms of Lewis. Her furrowed-up eyebrows made him laugh again.

She hadn’t noticed an overnight back resting next to the first-place trophy on the ground. He reached for it and pulled out a sketchbook, a few tubes of paint, and a couple of paintbrushes. Her previous furrowed-up eyebrows immediately relaxed. She relaxed back into the pillows as he opened up the sketchbook to an empty page.

Painting was once a passion of Y/n. She has grown quite a large platform for her work. She adored being able to translate everything in her mind onto a canvas with the stroke of her paintbrush.

Unfortunately due to her illness causing pain in her hand joints, she had to give up the intricate paintings. On occasions when she found herself stuck in the hospital, Lewis would always bring her sketchbook. Although she couldn’t do the once complex strokes and liked, she could do a simplified version.

“Lew,” Her voice was soft and frail. Her hand reached out to grasp his. “You didn’t have to do this. You should be celebrating your win.” She mumbled, slowly reaching over to tuck a braid that had fallen out of his ponytail behind his ear.

“Nonsense,” Lewis looked up at her, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “I much rather be relaxed and painting here with you than be out with drunk people who only want to be around me for the pictures.”

Y/n sighed as the corner of her lips curled into a smile. He handed her a paintbrush before squeezing a couple of colors on the small plastic palette he had brought. He leaned over, cupping her cheek in pulled her in close. He gently kissed her plump lips and couldn’t help but smile.

“I love you, my strong girl.”

“And I love you, my 104x race winner.”

[stevesgother]

Chalkboard Hearts - Pt IV

Pairing - KindergartenTeacher!Steve Harrington x SingleMom!Reader

WC - 5.6k

Summary - A snow day prompts Steve and Abbey to spend a little one on one time together.

AN - sorry this one took a little longer! being creative is hard when the U.S keeps sucking me of all my joy. thanks for the patience, love y’all! ~ emma

Three weeks ago, your daughter’s kindergarten teacher gave you his phone number in a chilly, deserted diner parking lot, and every weekday since that night, Abbey has had to all but drag you from his classroom when you go to pick her up in the afternoons. One topic leads to another and another, and before you realize it, you and Steve have been chatting in his mostly empty classroom for over an hour. But this morning, you’re dialing those digits he gave you on your landlines keypad for the first time with shaky fingers. You’d spent the past hour exhausting all your other options. Your mother? Working. Your sister? Out of town. Your usual babysitter? sick.

Steve was the only person you knew for a fact wouldn’t be working today.

It wasn’t for a lack of wanting to that you hadn’t called yet. Every waking hour since that night, you had been wrestling with yourself about what an appropriate reason would be. Was he flirting with you? Did he genuinely just want you to have access to him in case of an emergency? Both? Your inner dialogue was deafening– like a squawking bird in the back of your brain.

The intrusive volume of your thoughts seemed to quiet now as your leg bounced impatiently– anxiety over the prospect of having to call into work outweighing your trepidation– waiting for him to pick up the call on the other line. 

He finally answered halfway through the fourth ring, “Hello?” Despite the early hour, Steve sounded wide awake. Probably rousing at the same time you did, not expecting to be temporarily blinded by three feet of bright, white snow piled on top of his car. On the kitchen radio, you can hear the newscaster announcing a closure of the local schools.

“Steve, it’s Y/N,” your voice cuts through the static.

He pauses briefly, yours probably being the last voice he expected to hear when he picked up his phone, “Hey, morning–” he clears his throat, “everything alright?”

“Yes– well– I don’t know.” You rub the tips of your fingers restlessly over your closed eyelids, “I don’t have anyone to watch Abbey with the school being closed, I've tried everyone and I really hate to ask but–”

“Of course, I can be there in thirty. Can you give me your address?”

“Are you sure, Steve? I can just call out if–”

“Don’t be ridiculous, just give me your address,” his incredulity and lack of hesitation sends the wings fluttering about in your stomach again, while cementing the reassurance of his words. You gain the courage to repeat your home address for him to write down.

You can hear the sound of pen hastily scratching paper, then after a few beats of silence he speaks again, “It’ll take me a little bit to clear off my car, but I’ll be there as soon as I can,”

“Thank you so much, you have no idea.”

“Don’t mention it,” you can hear the grin in his voice, can picture the flash of perfect white squares, “see you soon,” you breathe a heavy sigh of relief at the click of the receiver being placed back in its cradle. Abbey is bundled up on the couch watching Rugrats, a bowl of cereal in her lap. Normally, you wouldn’t let her eat in the living room, but you needed respite from her usual game of 20 Questions to make some phone calls.

“Hey, Ab,” you say as you approach her, thoroughly engrossed in her cartoons, “Is it okay if Mr. H comes over and watches you today while mommy goes to work?”

The question is more than enough to pull her focus from the television screen. Her face lights up like the Fourth of July as she nearly spills her cereal with the force of her straightening on the sofa, “Really?” She asks hopefully.

“Yes, grandma is working and Julia is sick. Is that okay?” As excited as you know she is, you want her verbal confirmation. Mostly because you’d never put your child in a situation she’s uncomfortable in; but a smaller, more selfish part of you wants to be absolved of the guilt you feel for having to leave her all day.

Your wish is granted almost instantly as she squeals and hops off the couch where she’d been lounging, placing her bowl on the coffee table. Halfway to her room, she calls, “Mommy! Where are my coloring books?”

“They’re on top of your bookshelf,” you call, “don’t make a huge mess, please!”

“I won’t!” She replies, muffled through the drywall separating you.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You hadn’t had time to tidy the house or make yourself look even remotely presentable before Steve arrived. If it weren’t for the relief that floods your body upon seeing his car pull in the driveway, you might even be a little embarrassed. Booted footsteps shuffle up the porch as you’re shoveling things into your bag at the last minute, followed by three light knocks on the door.

“Coming!” You shout from where you stand in the dining room.

Before you even have the chance to reach the foyer, Abbey is darting from her bedroom in plastic play shoes and throwing the door open with immeasurable enthusiasm.

“Hey–” Steve starts, expecting it to be you before he realizes who’s greeting him, “Oh, hi Ab,” he waves to the little face staring up at him, “Where’s your mom?”

“Mommy!” Abbey calls, “Mr. H is here!”

Steve spots you holding two pieces of notebook paper clad with chicken scratch scribblings. You look frazzled– hair thrown up hastily and scrubs wrinkly. He scours the place where he would normally find an emotion akin to pity for your distressed state, but in its absence, he only feels endearment laced with a little concern.

He doesn’t get a word in before you’re shoving the papers in his hands and spouting off information that he’s praying is already on the sheets you’ve given him.

“I should be home by five, if anything happens, this–” you point to a barely legible number, “--is my work phone. This is her doctor’s phone number and she’s allergic to peanuts. There aren’t any peanuts in the house but–” you sigh, exasperated with yourself, “just in case.”

The rest of the pages are filled with ramblings about which channels Abbey likes to watch and how to work the television. How, in case she needs a bath, you have to pull and then twist the knob for the hot water to run. That she is not, under any circumstances, allowed to put nail polish on by herself and where you keep her Epi Pens.

Steve’s surprised at how many of these sentiments he already has catalogued. He’s required to know Abbey’s emergency contacts and that she has a nut allergy for his job, but he knows that channel thirty-seven has the best cartoons because Abbey once told him that Power Puff Girls was her favorite– and you’d already relayed to him the hilariously tragic tale of what happened the last time Abbey attempted to paint her own nails.

Despite this revelation, he doesn’t dare interrupt you. He indulges your ranting, a grin creeping involuntarily along his face.

“-- sorry, I’m rambling– I’ve just never left her with someone who wasn’t my mom or her sitter before,” you’re a little breathless after two straight minutes of talking.

“Hey, hey– you’re okay,” he wastes no time reassuring you, “you know I’d never let anything happen to her.” You nod your understanding, “Besides,” now he’s speaking to Abbey, “we’re gonna have a super fun time right?”

She shouts, “Yes!”

He looks at you with his brows raised, amused, “See?”

“Okay, alright,” you kneel down, chuckling, “do I get a hug? Or am I chopped liver?”

Giggling, Abbey wraps you in a suffocating embrace, like always. Her excitement for Steve has never quelled her affection for you, and you can tell that she’s still hesitant to see you go. You smack a kiss on her cheek, grabbing your bag from the floor as you rise again.

“Swear you’ll call me if anything happens?” You ask him one more time, already knowing the answer.

“Cross my heart.” He smiles fondly, stoking the flames burning bright around the cage that your heart inhabits.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Your home is cozy, much cozier than anything Steve had growing up. He’s warmed at the idea that Abbey has the privilege of growing up in a house that feels so lived in– stains on the carpet, soft edges and yellow lighting. There’s clutter on the kitchen counter by the microwave and colorful alphabet magnets securing several bright pieces of artwork to the fridge.

“Are these the pictures you drew in art class last week?” He asks Abbey, who has been trailing behind him all through the house, pointing things out to him as they go.

“Uh-huh, Mrs. Morse helped me with that one,” she points to what Steve thinks is probably supposed to be a zebra.

“Well, you’re very talented, I love them,”

“Can we go play outside?” She asks, drawing out the last syllable and completely ignoring Steve’s compliment.

“Sure we can,” he chuckles, “where do you keep your snowsuit?”.

Abbey takes Steve by the wrist and leads him to the coat closet by the front door. Similar to the rest of your house, it’s stuffed to the brim– full of puffy nylon and heavy winter boots. He catches a glimpse of a familiar brown and green jacket– his jacket. You’d promised to wash it and return it to him, but it must’ve slipped your mind. He grins to himself at the reminiscence as he fetches Abbey’s snow gear and shuts the door.

Steve hadn’t dressed appropriately for a morning rolling around in the cold. He had slipped on a pair of your mittens, probably meant more for fashion than practicality, because his fingers were already completely numb. But he can’t seem to deny her when Abbey pleads with him to make snow angels. They’d just spent the past half an hour building two snowmen– one short like Abbey and one tall like Steve, she insisted, as she wrapped her scarf around the snowman that resembled her.

“Please, Mr. H?” She begs when she notices his hesitancy.

“Alright, alright,” he chuckles, “but then we’re gonna go inside and have lunch. Deal?”

That appears to be a good enough covenant for her, “Okay!” Abbey exclaims, falling fairly harshly to the cushioned ground. Steve braces himself for tears, but Abbey only keeps laughing in that contagious way as she begins spreading her arms and legs out beside her in a repetitive motion.

“Are you gonna make one?” She questions from her place on the ground.

He grunts as he reluctantly lowers himself down next to her, anticipating the icy wetness waiting underneath him. The snow seeps uncomfortably through his jeans, but the sound of Abbey’s unbridled joy nearly makes up for his soiled clothing.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

What’d you want to eat, Ab?” Steve calls from the pantry while Abbey changes out of her wet clothes in her bedroom.

“Not hungry!” She calls back.

He sighs, expecting her stubbornness– she was nearly as mulish as you.

“Remember the deal we made earlier?” He asks, “That if I made a snow angel with you, that you’d have to eat something for lunch, right?”

She emerges from her room, pout prominent on her strikingly adorable features, “But I wanna keep playing,” she whines, giving her foot a little stomp on the linoleum for emphasis.

“We can keep playing after, I promise,” he knows he’s not winning this battle without a compromise, “does your mom let you eat in the living room?” He asks with a lilt to his voice that makes him sound conspiratorial.

“Sometimes…”

“How about…” he pauses as if thinking, “I make us some food and we watch a movie while we eat?”

He can tell he’s got her after that– hook, line and sinker. She still pretends to mull over his proposition for a moment before agreeing, “Hmm…I think that sounds good,” she settles, trying and failing to mask her elation.

That’s how Steve ended up, plates of grilled cheese sandwiches in hand, dodging barbies and miscellaneous stuffed animals on his way to the living room a few minutes later.

“Have you found a movie yet?” He asks Abbey as he sets the plates down atop the coffee table.

“Yes but–” she jumps on her tiptoes, “I can’t reach it,”

Steve walks over to the towering shelf of VHS tapes in front of her, “Which one are you trying to reach?”

Abbey points at the tape in question, “Home Alone,”

“Alrighty,” Steve says as he grabs it with ease, “Your foods on the table, go sit while I put it in,”

Abbey, for once, does as he asks– bounding over to the coffee table with the excitement typical of a five-year-old who has an adult's permission to break a house rule.

While Steve eyes your VCR, he catches a glimpse of a photo out of the corner of his eye, causing him to pause. It’s you, no older than twenty, holding a swaddled baby in a sterile hospital room. He doesn’t recognize the picture as one he’s seen before.

Of course you’ve never seen it before, he thinks, you barely know her. Get a grip.

You’re filled with such youthful brilliance in the shot, despite the underlying weariness of having just given birth; your hair tied messily into a bun at the nape of your neck, sweat beading on your brow bone. It’s just you and Abbey, Steve thinks her father must’ve been the photographer.

He can’t help but think of himself at that age and all the stupid shit he was doing. How, if you had handed him a baby then, he wouldn’t have known the first thing about what to do with it– but here you had raised such a bright, healthy daughter and largely alone. He was struck by such a sudden and overwhelming admiration for you that he nearly forgot what he was supposed to be doing.

“Mr. H?” Abbey asked, mouth full, “When are we gonna start the movie?”

Her question sends him hurling back to reality. A reality where he’s your daughter’s kindergarten teacher, and the two of you are friendly with each other at best.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

At some point during the movie, once their lunch was reduced to crumbs on empty plates, Abbey had hauled out her box of coloring books and crayons that she had been looking for this morning.

Steve, the less creative of the two, was coloring in a cartoon illustration of a fairy while Abbey was making her own drawing on a piece of white construction paper. The lack of constant chatter is a welcome reprieve, but he knows that Abbey only becomes quiet when she’s particularly concentrated, so he chances a peek to his right at what she’s working on.

She got a death grip on a brown crayon– shaved almost down to the tip– with her tongue sticking ever so slightly between her lips as she focuses intently on her art.

The picture is of three stick figures– two tall and one significantly smaller in between them. It’s set at what looks to be a playground, a bright yellow sun in the sky and blue scribblings around white clouds. Swings, slides and even a little blue dog adorn the rest of the background.

Pleasantly surprised at her artistry, Steve says, “That looks amazing, Ab!”

She’s snapped out of her stupor, her face split with a wide toothless grin. She doesn’t thank him, only lets out a few bashful giggles at his praise and says, “I like yours too,”

“Is that you?” He points at the littlest figure.

“Mhm, see? I made her hair curly like mine!”

“It looks just like you,” he agrees, then draws her attention to the other figures, “Is this your mom and your dad next to you?”

“This is mommy,” she points, “I put her in the blue clothes she wears at work,” he knows she’s referring to your scrubs, but the phrasing makes him chuckle.

“And this is you!” She circles the figure she’s drawn with the tip of her finger. She’s included his voluminous chestnut hair and his silver wire-framed glasses, even one of the stupid striped polos he wears at school. Looking at it now, it’s obvious who it was supposed to be– but it’s so unexpected that he feels his face heat up at the realization.

“Oh, wow, Ab– That’s–” he grapples to find the words to express the juxtaposition he’s found himself in. He’s honored, truly, to be included in this portrait Abbey’s made of herself and her mother– her family– but there’s a gnawing guilt he can’t seem to shake. The fear that, in some way, he’s replacing her father.

“I love it, Ab, thank you,” he smiles fondly at her work, the proud grin she wears slowly melting the flash freeze of trepidation that encased his conscience.

“Can we hang it on the fridge for mommy to see when she gets home?” She asks after a moment.

“That sounds like a great idea.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Around four o’clock, Abbey begins asking what they’re having for dinner. Steve wonders briefly if you always have to deal with her being so ravenous.

“How about we start cooking now? That way it’ll be ready for your mom when she gets home,”

“Okay,” Abbey concurs. Steve wouldn’t consider himself a Michelin star chef by any means, but he can make a mean chicken parmesan.

A trip to the grocery store was needed to grab some ingredients. After scribbling down the required items on a crumpled receipt, and struggling for ten minutes to get Abbey’s carseat in the back of his BMW, they’re on their way.

He meets her eyes in the rearview mirror, “Do you want me to put on some music?”

“Christmas music?” She asks hopefully.

Steve isn’t the biggest fan of Christmas music– Christmas in general, really– but he obliges her request and turns the dial to their local channel, soft bells and a choir of voices begin to flood through the interior of the car. She really is so harmlessly manipulative with her saucer eyes and round button nose, he can’t seem to refuse her anything.

Steve drives more cautiously than he thinks he ever has, even more so than when he was sixteen and learning how to drive with his family’s Pontiac as his father stared harshly at him from the passenger seat. He comes to a full halt at every stop sign, and he never takes his eyes off the road.

After fighting some early rush hour traffic, they make it. Without a second thought, Abbey grasps Steve’s hand while walking through the parking lot. He tries not to look startled at the sudden contact, recalling how she always seems to have a firm grip on your hand in public spaces too. Steve’s just glad she feels comfortable with him.

“Can I help?” Abbey asks as Steve grabs a cart from the corral.

“Course’,” he smiles, “do you wanna grab the ingredients and put them in the cart for me?”

She bounces excitedly, “Sure!”

Wandering through the aisles, Abbey never strayed from Steve’s side. Every time he read off an item, she would dutifully fetch it and throw it into the cart with a little more force than necessary, but Steve didn’t mind.

“Do you live by yourself?” She asks out of the blue as they peruse the store.

“I do,”

“Then how come you know how to cook?”

He laughs at her inquisitive nature, “Well I have to eat don’t I?”

“Yeah…” she ponders, “I guess so,”

“Alright, the last thing we need is breadcrumbs,” he informs her, scanning the shelves.

Like earlier, Abbey attempts to stand on her tiptoes to try and reach the can in question, “I’m getting it,” she mumbles in determination, very much not getting it.

“Here,” Steve says as he lifts her up by her waist like it was second nature to him.

“Got it!” She exclaims, tossing it in with the rest of the groceries. “Can I ride in the cart now?” She yawns with a polite hand over her mouth. He supposes grocery shopping takes a lot out of you when all the shelves are at least five feet taller than your head.

“Sure,” Steve chuckles as he slots her little legs through the designated holes.

Despite the ride home only being about ten minutes long, Abbey manages to doze off– lulled to sleep by the subtle hum of the car's engine. Steve veered as gently as possible into the driveway, careful not to disturb her even though he was about to wake her up anyway.

“Abbey,” he shakes her softly, “we’re home,”

Abbey rouses, but only slightly. She yawns again and stretches with her arms over her head before extending them out, silently motioning with her eyes still closed for Steve to carry her inside.

“Okay, c’mon lazy bones,” he grunts at the angle but lifts her from her car seat nonetheless. After unlocking the door one-handed, he sets her carefully on the couch and covers her with a plush throw blanket before heading back outside for the rest of the groceries.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The first thing you notice when you approach your front door is the savory smell of something cooking. Inside, the TV is off and your daughter is sleeping soundly on the couch. Quiet clattering noises flood from the kitchen.

The sleeves of Steve’s burgundy sweater are rolled up to his elbows and the kitchen smells of roasting chicken and mahogany as he stirs a simmering pot of homemade pasta sauce. He’s humming some tune softly under his breath– Bob Segar, you think.

“Hey,” you greet with a grin as you set your bag down on the dining table. Steve turns around to meet you as you ask, “What’re you doing?”

“Cooking?” He replies.

“No, really?” You deadpan back, eliciting an amused chuckle from the man standing at your stove.

“Abbey was asking about dinner,” he pauses, “we were gonna do this whole thing– we were gonna make it for you together, have it ready by the time you got home, but,” he gestures with his arm to the living room where Abbey is napping. Steve Harrington is nothing if not expressive– talking with his hands, eyebrows always either furrowed in concentration or raised in amusement. It’s one of the most charming things about him, you think.

“Well, thank you,” you say, “you didn’t have to do that,” you feel a blush heat your cheeks at how domestic this feels– like you come home to Steve cooking dinner for you and your daughter every night. You can picture it as easily as if it were your actual reality and it leaves you feeling briefly vertiginous. You’re not sure Jeremy ever cooked even one meal for you in the entirety of your relationship.

“The chickens almost done and then I'll get out of your hair,” he assumes a teasing lilt to his voice to disguise the fact that he feels like he’s overstepping– overstaying his welcome or crossing some invisible line.

“Are you kidding?” You scoff, “You’ve gotta at least stick around long enough to see how it came out,”

“You don’t mind?” He asks hesitantly.

“Steve, of course I don’t mind,” honestly, you think you’d start a fire and burn your house to the ground if it meant getting him to stay just a little longer to help you put it out, “plus, I’m sure Abbey’ll be stoked.”

“Alright, well,” he smiles warmly, “it’s ready if you wanna go wake the gremlin up,”

At the table, Abbey insists on sitting next to Steve in the chair across from you.

“This is delicious, Steve,” you compliment.

“Best you ever had?” He teases, but his phrasing makes you choke a little on your pasta.

Abbey makes a twisted face, “The sauce tastes funny.” Saved by the bell.

“Abbey!” you scold playfully, poorly concealing a laugh behind the back of your hand, “Sorry– I think she’s just used to eating Prego,”

“That’s okay– I think she’s right, actually,” he assures you, twisting his expression into something sour and causing Abbey to giggle. His eyes are the color of rich soil as he sends you an oh, so familiar look across the table, communicating another silent thought to you. One that says, I don’t mind how blunt she is, I think it’s endearing.

When dinner is finished, Steve insists on doing the dishes for you too. “You cooked, Steve, let me–” you try to barter.

“--You do enough as it is,” he counters simultaneously.

“You watched my child all day!” You laugh at his stubbornness.

“I do that everyday anyway!” He argues, beginning to fill up the porcelain farmhouse sink with hot, sudsy water.

“At least let me help,” you give him that wide eyed look you always seem to be giving him lately. God, you’re no better than Abbey. “You wash, I’ll dry?”

“Fine,” he tries to frown but his smirk betrays him in his act of faux annoyance.

After a few minutes of stuffy silence, you ask, “She wasn’t too much of a pain in the ass today, was she?”

“Not any more than usual,” he jokes and a plate slips through his fingers, causing a small splash of water to coat your face in dishwater. You gasp at the sensation.

“Oh– Sorry!--” he tries to apologize, but you take your dishwater soaked fingers and flick them in the direction of his own face– small soapy bubbles clinging to his lashes and eyebrows.

“I cannot believe you right now,” he says, wiping his eyes with his sleeve.

“There, now we’re even,” you smirk.

“I’ll let it slide. This time.”

“Mommy!” Abbey rushes into the kitchen, “Can Mr. H stay to watch a cartoon before bed?”

“I don’t know, baby, it’s getting late,” you can just barely see the flash of heartbreak in her gaze before Steve interjects, “It’s okay, I don’t mind staying for a little longer,”

You send him a skeptical glance over your shoulder, but he just nods and asks Abbey what she’d like to watch.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The end credits for an episode of The Rugrats flashes across the screen, illuminating Abbey’s sleeping face in muted shades of blue and orange. She snores, slumped against Steve’s chest with her arms wrapped around his torso. You sit propped against the other arm of the couch watching them intently– trying to memorize the sight before you. You’ve never seen Abbey cradled like this before by anyone else except you. It wasn’t something you felt you craved until recently.

Steve turns, catching you staring but not calling attention to it. He can count on several hands the amount of times he’s done the same to you– Steve Harrington is many things, but he is not a hypocrite.

“Did you know the guy from Devo wrote the theme song for this?” He gestures towards the television.

“Really?”

“Mhm,” he replies, “I can’t remember who told me that,”

After a few beats of hushed silence, you say, “Should probably put that one to bed– unless you wanna be here all night,” you try to joke but your voice shakes.

He would if you were sincerely asking. He’d stay right here on this uncomfortably worn sofa, with your daughter whom he has such an affinity for, sleeping against his chest for the next millenia. He’d fossilize here if he could– your presence beside him calm and grounding like an anchor in a storm.

He voices none of this. Instead he says, “Do you want to take her?”

“It’s okay,” you wave him off, “I’ll just come with you.” The three of you slowly make your way to Abbey’s bedroom, Steve carrying her bridal style against his torso and the door creaks on its hinges when Steve pushes it open with his hip. She stirs only a little when he sets her down, but is soothed quickly with a firm palm stroking her back a few times.

The door clicks behind you as Steve leads you both back to the living room.

“I should probably–”

“Do you want–”

You begin to speak at the same time, awkward chuckles leaving both of your nervous lips.

“You first,” he offers, scratching the back of his neck.

“I was– just gonna ask if you wanted some wine, but I know it’s late–”

“Wine sounds great.” His lips form a line across his face as he grins.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Half a bottle of wine split between the two of you, and your hands were tingling from the effort it was taking not to reach out and card your fingers through the hair of the man sitting across from you.

“How come you never called?” He asks suddenly, but not unkindly.

“Hm?”

“You never called– well, not til’ this morning at least,”

“Didn’t know what counted as an emergency, I guess,” you shrug, the alcohol shaking your nerves loose.

He must’ve been feeling in a similar way to you– speaking freely in a way he wouldn’t have before, “Just wanted to talk to you,” he smiles fondly.

“Oh,” you whisper, and when you don’t say anything else, Steve changes the subject.

“I like that photo of you on top of the entertainment center,” he says contemplatively, “you looked really…peaceful,”

“Well, raising a miniature version of yourself tends to age you a bit, I suppose,”

“Can I ask you something?” He asks, testing the waters.

“Always”

“Where was Jeremy in the picture?”

“We always talk about me,” you roll your eyes spiritedly and release a contented sigh, “Tell me why you really came to Maine,”

“Don’t deflect,” he teases.

“C’monnnn,” you draw out the last syllable, “answer,”

“I asked you first,” Steve chuckles.

“Jeremy wasn’t at Abbey’s birth,” you admit, it's immediately like an aching weight removed from the length of your spine– one that's been there consistently for years. “He didn’t even want me to have her,” you scoff humorlessly.

You had told almost no one this before. For the sake of keeping appearances, even after he passed, only your mother and sister knew that Jeremy had pushed for you to terminate your pregnancy when he’d found out; and that only once your daughter was actually born did he want to be involved in her life. The burden felt shockingly easy to lay at Steve’s feet, like someone might confess to a priest. This tender man sitting across from you– whether it was the wine or simply his presence, you aren’t sure– but it felt so effortless to be vulnerable right now. Your soft, white underbelly on display for him to do as he pleases, trusting him to have a gentle touch.

“That fucking sucks,” he knows you well enough by now to understand you’ve never cared for empty platitudes, so he doesn’t bother schooling his bitter, empathetic expression, “M’ sorry,”

Not wanting to dwell on it any longer, you say, “Your turn,”

“My old man was an abusive, drunk asshole,” he says frankly, “I don’t know if I ever saw him sober,” he huffs a laugh but there’s no humor behind it. “I needed to get out– to see what else there was, you know?” He asks, and you nod, “He died in my sophomore year of college. Didn’t even go to the wake.”

“Well, I’m really glad you ended up in this shithole,” he laughs at that, “I think you’re pretty neat, Harrington,”

“Thanks,” he deadpans, “Juries still out on you,” he pokes your side and you giggle like you’re a damn teenager again.

You swat him lightly on his bicep in retaliation, and before you know it, you’ve both succumbed to a fit of contagious laughter. When it begins to die down, you’re closer to him than you’d been before. It steals the breath from your lungs and your heart thrashes inside your ribcage like a wild animal.

You’re gazing at each other now, heads light from the alcohol and dizzy with proximity. His heavy lidded gaze lands on your lips for a second too long, and then he’s pulling your face flush to his own by the sharp edge of your jaw.

It’s a soft kiss, but it’s maddening nonetheless. His lips are plush and smooth– malleable against yours. You huff a surprised breath of air, but don’t pull away. One of his calloused hands is resting firmly on your waist while the other one snakes up tenderly to hold the back of your head. You feel that familiar itch to bury your fingers in his brown tresses, so finally, you do. What realistically only lasts a moment, feels like hours before he’s pulling away, nearly frightened.

When he looks at you, his doe eyes are wide with fear, glassy with the impending fallout of what he’d just done. He stammers, “I’m sorry–that was–” he runs his hands down the length of his guilt twisted face.

“No– Steve, It’s okay, I–”

“I should go–” he says quickly as he slips his shoes and coat on, not even bothering to tie the laces, he grabs his keys, “I’m sorry I’ll– I’ll see you on Monday,”

He’s closing the door behind him before your mind gets the chance to catch up with your mouth. You wished to tell him that it was okay, that you liked it– that you wanted him to stay and never leave again.

But it’s too late. You’re left alone in the stifling air of your living room, half a bottle of wine on the coffee table and your heart on the floor.

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divider cred - @cafekitsune

[cloudyskydreams]

SO on period UT,UF,US,HT!

Ive had this sitting in my notes for awhile wasn't super proud of it still ain't but I wanted to post something, I just had to slap the HT brothers on and boom new post.

Also I've been wanting to write swapfell but I don't know the difference between that and fellswap or really their personalities cause it's so different for each fanfic so if someone could pls explain 🙏

Anyways here y'all go hope you enjoy!

Undertale:

Sans:

I feel like sans is pretty knowledgeable so you didn't have to explain it to him. He takes it pretty maturely it's a natural part of life. The puns the horrible puns. He has so many specifically for this time of the month. He's always got your comfort snack on hand in his jacket pockets. He doesn't really change much he'll get off his ass if you ask him to but he sticks by your side mostly and lazes out cuddled with you while watching shows. Pretty good at getting products and snacks you might like he likes to get you some new snacks to try with him and he's good at guessing what you might like.

Papyrus:

This man is prepared. After you tell him what it is he researches it and WOWIE he wishes he just asked you to explain but now he's over prepared with knowledge! He has hot water bottles and weighted blankets at the ready. Any snacks you want, heck you want a whole meal? He's on it and it's prepared with extra love. He carries around your products for you and always has pain medicine in his bags. Pretty good at picking them up from the store too and has no shame getting them.

Underfell:

Red:

You gotta explain it to him and this man is bewildered for a bit. ya bleed from there for how long??? every month?! He's a little impressed?? Last he checked humans weren't supposed to lose huge amounts of blood but you're treating it like it's a normal thing. After he gets over his initial shock he'll try and help the best he can which is a little awkwardly. He makes a little nest for you out of blankets and pillows and makes sure you're comfortable. He and his magic run warm so he'll lay on your stomach and cuddle to help with cramps, pet his head and he might purr. He's pretty confused about products def one to send Babe what's your pussy size.

Edge:

He's aware, he's done his research on his own when you were ovulating about the human "mating cycle". Not a fun experience but he takes it in stride. He listens to what you need and trys to deliver. Massages for sore muscles and heating pads for cramps. He'll make you comfort food while you relax watching a show and join you afterwards for some cuddles. He's pretty good at getting products for you and takes the ones you like into consideration but he's always looking for better healthier alternatives for you.

Underswap:

Stretch:

Knows about it (blue taught him when he found out and Stretch showed interest in humans)and is a little awkward(traumatized from the talk with Blue). Hate to say it Stretch doesn't really know what to do he's not grossed out he just doesn't know how to handle it. He tries his best to be comforting giving snacks, heating pads, and cuddles. He's so awkward going to the store to get products plays it cool but has no idea what he's doing and definitely gets the wrong thing after his mind blanks while staring at all the products for too long. You just gotta train him he'll get better.

Blue:

Also knows and he's handling it alot better. He takes it in stride and understands the biggest part is you're uncomfortable and he's going to do his best to help with that. He takes care of chores you don't want to do, makes you comfort meals, and always has a heating pad ready. Has so many two player comfort games lined up for you guys, he has stuff to do but most of his work stuff can be done at home! Which means he'll just be a shout away if you need anything . Pretty good at getting products and is one to carry some around in his bag just in case when you guys go out.

HorrorTale:

Axe:

You have to explain it to him… Multiple times. He's confused as to why you smell like blood, he likes the smell but he's confused for a bit until he writes a note about it. He will not remember which products to get unfortunately. He's so confused staring at them you'll have to instruct him very clearly over a call and he still probably grabs the wrong one. Cuddles are supreme he's a giant so he'll engulf you in his form and his purrs practically shake your whole body. It's like a free massage chair whenever you want. He sticks closer by your side during this time of month knowing blood means your wounded and his protective urges flare up.

Willow:

You'll also have to explain it to him and he's extremely worried when he smells blood. Even more so when he learns how long you bleed, he knows how much blood a human can loose and it worries him you're losing so much. After you explain it's a normal thing and a part of life he calms down slightly. He cleans and cooks a lot when stressed or worried so you constantly have something to munch on and you don't have to worry about any chores. He stays over stocked up on supplies, he doesn't like going out in public very often but for this he will because he deems it important enough. It's why he stocks up so much when he goes out. Mother hens over you hard and you might have to pull him into cuddles to get him to relax for a bit.

[runningfrom2am]

leveling the playing field IV

summary: you didn't meet the requirements for the plinth prize, only to find out that you're not just missing out on that- you're missing out on the opportunity of a lifetime. your friend wants to help, because maybe you can help each other.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 2.5k

tags/warnings: capitol brat!reader, maybe slightly ooc coryo, idk i tried my best. do they love each other or hate each other? who knows (we do, kind of). implications and discussion of abuse, so read with caution!!

masterlists // nav // requests

join my taglist here

a/n: im just hammering this out at this point-

next part

The following days were full of a new routine. Every morning, take pain medication for your now neverending migraine, gather food for Lucy Gray and the Snow's, check in with Jessup and redress his bite as best you can, go to the hospital and be denied visitation to Coryo, go to class, and then start the cycle again that afternoon. You were getting burnt out, and quickly- your parents were displeased that you weren't home as often. Their patience was wearing thin.

If you were honest with yourself, your patience was also wearing thin. You were catering to Lucy Gray, which of course you agreed to do, but in the case that she wins the games, the Plinth Prize would not be going to you. It would still go to Coriolanus- and he was in the hospital doing nothing but recovering. Which was good. You remind yourself several times a day that you are happy to help because at least he isn't dead.

The sun is setting when Coriolanus wakes up again, this time feeling less groggy. He's been in and out the last few days, most of it as a blur due to the pain medication that has been pumping into his system through an IV for the last few days. He does vaguely remember waking up to eat as much as he could stomach, talking to Clemensia, maybe, unless he was hallucinating, and telling a nurse to stop letting you in when he kept seeing covered plates and glass containers showing up with more food. It had to have been you, and while he was grateful for it, he loathed the idea of you pitying him.

Tigris and Sejanus were both present, now, and despite telling the staff to not let you in, he's more than a little disappointed you are not there. He furrows his brow, attempting to pull out the tube from his hand. "Hey, hey-" Tigris stops him, shaking her head out of confusion. "What are you doing?"

"I'm fine. I'm better." He insists, pushing her hand away.

"I need to go check on Lucy Gray..." He mumbles, shaking his head.

"Y/N is with her. She's fine." Sejanus tells him, standing by the end of the bed.

"Now? What time is it? How do you know?"

"Well, the interviews will start in an hour or so." His friend explains.

"An hour?" Coriolanus asks, now more frantically pulling out the tube with a hiss. He has to be there, he has to go introduce Lucy Gray. He didn't even consciously realize time was passing while he was there.

"No, Coryo, you can't go. Y/N can handle it." Tigris says, trying to calm him.

"Sejanus, are you going?" He asks, ignoring his cousin completely.

Sejanus looks down, shaking his head and twisting his fingers out of nervousness. "No, uh, Marcus escaped. He's gone."

Coriolanus was disappointed- he was hoping he would be able to hitch a ride with him. He'll have to run- though it isn't too far.

"Okay, well, I'm going." He insists, grabbing a pile of clean clothes that Tigris had brought for him the day previous.

Tigris gives up on trying to stop him, and Sejanus hasn't really attempted to. He knows that you would be happy to see him if he is feeling well enough to go. Watching you in class, constantly jittery and even a little pale, made it evident that you needed Coriolanus, or you were worried, at the very least.

Thankful for the morphing he still had in his bloodstream, he makes it to the studio in time for Lucy Gray's interview, even with a few minutes to spare. As soon as he sees you, he can tell that you've been struggling. The bags under your eyes couldn't be hidden by makeup, nor could your healing bruises from the bombing that were now turning a shade of green that would typically make him ill. Scattered as well among them were some darker ones, purple ones, around your elbow and on your wrist. Regardless, you're smiling- talking in a hushed tone to Lucy Gray.

You're opening your brother's guitar case, carefully lifting it out of the velvet that surrounded it when you see Coryo walking toward you, and you're immediately abandoning your effort to stand up and greet him. "Coryo? What are you doing here?" You ask, excitement fading into worry.

"I wouldn't miss it." He smiles politely, adjusting his cuffs.

You sigh, finding the effort to match his smile. "You made it." Lucy Gray grins at him, brushing over her face with a cloth you offered her, a small effort to clean up the dirt and grime that clung to her skin in the zoo.

"Well, I got her a guitar. It's my brothers." You quickly move on, already feeling comforted by his presence alone. You grab it, holding it out to him as Lucy digs into the makeup that you had brought for her to borrow, hoping to add some life back into her face.

He takes it, looking over the polished wood and the brand-new strings. "Thank you. And it's tuned? Working order?"

"Tip top shape." You promise with a nod. "I had it professionally looked over this morning."

"You're a dream." Coryo praises you, making you blush. "Thank you, Y/N. Truly."

"It's my job."

Lucy Gray did amazing in her performance- and everyone loved it. She received the most donations by a long shot, which will allow Coriolanus to help her in the arena. As much as he can without changing her abilities to defend herself or fight, anyway.

You had made it home shortly after, returning your brother's guitar and having a shower before practically crawling into bed. Finally, you feel like you may be able to get a good night's sleep. Coryo is home, and even though you have an early morning, you'll be able to relax enough to rest.

That is, until you hear something snapping against the window next to your bed. You try and ignore it, covering your ears with your pillow, but the tapping persists.

You flick on your lamp and hesitantly pull back the curtain, peeking out to track the source of the noise. It was only a moment before your eyes landed on Coryo, who waves when he can see you in the window. You rub your eyes, squinting from the light and sliding the window open.

"Coryo?" You ask, confused as to why he's here.

"Come down, bring your notebook." He whispers loud enough for you to hear, but his voice is still soft enough to not wake anyone else in your house. "And a coat, it's quite cold."

You sigh. "Okay. Give me two minutes." Apparently, rest isn't a part of your evening plans.

You follow alongside him all the way to the arena, already set up to host the Hunger Games in the morning.

"Woah..." You gasp, walking into the same clearing you had just days before, but now it looked like a whole new place. "Okay. This we can work with." You smile a little to yourself, not noticing Coryo training his eyes on you.

He watches as you walk ahead of him, immediately toward the center of the large room as you scribble in your notebook. You wanted to get down as many details as possible, every new pile of debris or hole that could offer a place of refuge for Lucy Gray. Coriolanus wants to focus on the task at hand, but this is the first time he's been around you without the prying eyes of classmates or adults in a long time. You were never alone, he almost always was outside of school.

Walking up next to you, the light from the moon hits your hair and the side of your face as you look around, hardly glancing at the book in your hand. "Are you..." He starts, being reminded of what he noticed on the walk over but wouldn't dare to mention.

"Hm?" You prompt him to continue, drawing your attention to the boy in front of you now and lifting your pen to your mouth, biting onto it while you shake out a cramp in your wrist.

"Are you wearing makeup?" He asks, leaning in slightly to get a closer look.

"Excuse me?" You laugh awkwardly after grabbing the pen once more, taking a small step back. "Certainly your grandmother taught you its unbecoming to ask a lady such a question."

He chuckles slightly, looking away from you. "Bold of you to assume I consider you a lady." He jokes.

You gasp in mock offense, playfully smacking his arm. "How dare you!" You can't help but laugh. Now you remember why you were friends. Or why you considered him a friend, and why he believed that he was merely tolerating you. In reality, he didn't have to bring you. He could have come on his own, but why should he when you would be willing to accompany him? You're known for your attitude, your brashness, and he admired your unwavering ambition- whatever you wanted you would get. Not just because of your family name, either. You were willing to work for it, to fight for it.

Coriolanus was walking a fine line between desiring your presence and his own indifference. Now, surpassing a mere tolerance of you, this change scared him. "I know what you look like, you know. It's the middle of the night, there was no use wasting our time with putting on makeup." He says, not wanting to let on his own intrigue on the topic.

"I would argue that you don't, not since we were fourteen, anyway." You reply, dipping your head to get back to your sketching. "It's more of a force of habit."

His closeness allows him to grab your chin between his thumb and forefinger, gently but firmly lifting your head back up to get a better look at you. Your eyes widen, your heartbeat increasing with a mix of fear and embarrassment.

His eyes bore into you, into every part of your face as if your skin would somehow tell him the full story. You can't bring yourself to speak, just waiting for him to find the answers he wanted.

"Is it your father?" He asks, looking into your eyes now, his grip loosening on your chin.

You take a quick step back. You were aware that he knew something, he was the only one who tended to stare too long at your skin wherever it was exposed ever since you were thirteen and he asked what happened when you came to school with a bruise on your cheek. Notably more so after your essay last year that rewarded you with only a B.

"I won't tell anyone." He says, and your own voice echoes in your mind after telling him the same thing just the other day at your house. "I would have by now if I was going to."

"Why do you care?" You bite back, defensiveness being your go to weapon in a war of self-preservation.

He wants to spit at you that he doesn't, but that's a lie he couldn't even dream of in this moment. You'd storm out, probably never talk to him again, and that idea hurt him. "I want to help you."

"Well, not much anyone can do now is there?" You reply, attempting to move on. "Let's look around." You try and change the subject, give yourself an outlet to walk away, but this doesn't work as Coryo is grabbing your wrist, stopping you from taking another step.

"You can help by ignoring it." You sigh, his blue eyes just staring as he scrambled to find the right thing to say. "By not treating me like I'm going to break at every turn. How does that sound?"

He opens his mouth to speak but he doesn't, slightly shaking his head. He wants to release his grip on your wrist, tense and tight with urgency, but how could he without giving you the idea he thinks he's hurting you? He slides his hand into yours, holding his breath. "I apologize. It's not what I intended."

Now it's your turn to be speechless, staring down at your hands locked together.

"I just wanted to keep you safe." He explains, dancing around the idea even in his own mind that maybe he cares for you more than he should. "After Arachne, and after Clemensia, and now the Ring twins and Felix still fighting in that hospital bed it's so obvious to me that we are far from safe in this. We always were."

Your brow furrows. "What happened to Clem?"

"Dr. Gaul..." He takes in a deep breath. "One of her experiments, Clemensia has been in the hospital for days and she has these scales growing all over her and I thought I watched her die and then you almost died and-"

"Hey, hey, woah-" You cut him off, stepping closer again and not daring to drop his hand as he begins to crumble in front of you. "I'm still here, aren't I?"

He just nods, attempting to swallow back the fear in his voice.

"Okay. So, we've made it this far. You'll get that prize, we'll move on. Next year it will be someone else's problem. You will be safe." You say, squeezing his hand gently. "We're almost done, just a few more days."

His mouth is dry, and despite his heart racing, he knows you are right. After tonight, you won't be face-to-face with the tributes again. Neither of you will be in harm's way anymore, at least, not due to the games. Life will return to normal for you, and he will claim the prize he is owed and his life will change for the better. You won't be bringing him food every day, and you won't both be stressing over how to best prepare Lucy Gray. The tightness in his chest returns as his thoughts devolve- will he miss you?

It catches you off guard when he pulls you into a hug. Tight, panicked, heavy under the weight of all the tragedy and grief the two of you walk around with day to day. There is no one who gets him quite like you do. This time, he rests his chin on your head as your arms wrap around his waist, hands overlapping on his back. No, it's not enough. He tilts his head down so he can feel the warmth of you on his cheek, holding you tight as he takes in the scent of your hair. It's not roses, not like his mother's powder or what's left of her clothes in the Snow apartment, it's fresh. The smell of whatever soap you use doesn't demand to be noticed and inhaled, it's mostly full of you. Raspberries. That's it- it's raspberries mixed with you.

"We're almost done..." You whisper again, gently rubbing his back now in reassurance. He wonders, could you not feel the weight of everything? Of both of your entire lives barreling toward you all at once? Of course not. You were Y/N Y/L/N, you could only feel the pain of others; altruism drips out of every ounce of your being despite your habit of lashing out. Of course, you couldn't see it. You only saw him right now. Not his fear of losing you.

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[k9emote]

And just to add on! I never said my "art" was 100% by me I simply just didn't tell people, hate to say it but ive actually given up on being an artist because of people like you. I've commissioned and gave you money, and your friends money for art yet you still want to complain about me using somthing almost 4 months ago now to help me put food on the table. What you don't seem to understand is ain't nobody gonna tell you their entire life on the internet. You have no idea what a person could be going through yet you still sent your server of over 3000 people after a 15 year old girl who was just trying to enjoy creating something.

To say that I was "suicide baiting" is crazy because when did I EVER mention killing myself.

And one last thing, your sever is a cult. It's also fucking disgusting. A cesspool of brainless children looking for online relationships. You, yourself being included. It's a breeding ground for grooming and such things. You disgust me. The fact I have multiple screenshots of you saying you were "gods favorite lamb" please get a damn life dude. Your mental unwellness actually is a joke. The way you are open about your disgust for fat people is repulsive. You can't blame trauma on everything hope this helps xx

Your words speak for themselves on your character.

I am not disgusted by fat people. My current partner is plus sized. I asked for advice once on our perspective of incredibly unhealthy overweight people, and if feeling sick when seeing them made us a bad person. Our ex was morbidly obese due to her feederism and v0re kink. she bragged about being overweight to us and sexualized it. She wrote fanfics about force feeding us. She fetishized our ED. She roleplayed vore and feederism nightly behind our back with strangers while we were sleeping in vc together. We are working on untainting the mark she left on us, and that process is not for you to discredit or spread rumors about.

I'm not giving you consequences. I am protecting people and safespaces by alerting them of your repeated abusive behavior to keep people safe. The world does not revolve around you. You are receiving NATURAL CONSEQUENCES for being an ABUSIVE LIAR. No matter your age.

Drop the guilt tripping. Tracing over AI you were generating for art trades was not putting money on the table. You "never said the art was 100% yours", are you fucking serious? Your story of being the victim grows every time you speak. You being 15 does not mean you get to do whatever you want and expect nothing but pity. We tried to help. Us and our mods were there for you to vent to even after you admitted to shit talking us in the past. You did this to yourself.

Blacking out your entire profile and sending cryptid goodbyes to my entire staff team, even people you had never spoken to, is suicide baiting. When we blocked you on our main you found our ALT and sent the same short goodbye message. That comes off strongly as implying suicide.

For the love of god I'm not harassing you I'm just not letting you spit on my name using baseless rumors because you're upset you got caught. What the fuck did you think would happen?

I sent NO ONE after you and I am near COMPLETELY confident you have not been harassed. I have said over and over again to not harass you when I put out info on you to ban for members safety. That is NOT harassment. Your victim complex is insane.

Also. My server is not a "cult" and saying that to a survivors face is repulsive. It isn't a word to throw around and you make me sick. Please leave me alone. Stop messaging me. Stop threatening me. Stop lying about me. It will not make people feel bad for you. It will not make you feel better.

[hearts4werka]

NNN day 17 | Coffe and Calculations

“You know, if you throw your laptop across the room, it might make you feel better,”

summary: youve been in a spiral lately and decided to schedule a study session with Matt, while you were still struggling he had already finished all of his work but to not pressure you, he pretended to still have unfinished work by scribbling on a piece of paper but still keeping a close eye on you, asking if you need a break you didn’t want but secretly needed.

warnings: FLUFF & nothing else!

authors note: I have no idea what to put here at all 😭, I know fics have been coming a bit later than they used to but ive been pretty busy lately and not feeling the best but I still want to bring and put out some content for yall and hope you all understand, luv y’all sm and hope y’all enjoy this one

The library was a familiar safe space of silence, broken only by the soft tapping of keyboards and the occasional rustle of paper. I stared at my laptop screen, an endless amount of words and numbers blurring together as I tried to make sense of the textbook PDF open in front of me. My brain felt like it was running a hundred miles per hour yet I was nowhere near my destination. Matt sat across the table with a calm expression displayed on his face, his laptop closed and textbook casually stacked on top. I could see his eyes glancing between his phone and me, a mix of concentration and amusement dancing together across his features. He’d finished most of his work hours ago but was playing the role of the dedicated study buddy.

“Come on,” I muttered under my breath, rubbing my temples. “You can do this.” I could sense Matt’s gaze lingering longer than it usually did. He let out a soft chuckle and I glanced up, shooting him a glare. “What’s so funny?” “Just watching you work so hard. You look like you’re on a mission or maybe trapped in a really boring sci-fi show.” He smirked, clearly trying to lighten the mood. “Very funny, Matt. I feel like I’m in a universe where deadlines are infinite and caffeine is running low.” I groaned, leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms over my chest. “I swear if I don’t finish this tonight, I might just lose it completely.”

He tilted his head, being in deep contemplation as if seriously considering my words. “You know, if you throw your laptop across the room, it might make you feel better,” he suggested, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “But that might also be a good way to get kicked out of the library.” “Yeah and I’d hate to get banned for a laptop homicide,” I shot back, my frustration transferring into a laugh. The absurd of the thought lightened my mood even if only slightly. As I returned my focus to the screen, I could feel the weight of his attention. He was trying not to pressure me but his presence was both a comfort and an annoyance. “If you need a break, just say the word,” he said casually, still pretending to type away.

“I might just need a break like, right now,” I admitted, running a hand through my hair. “But I’ve got to finish at least this section before I can afford to breathe.” “Okay, okay. But don’t think I’ll let you cook that stress away with late night ramen again,” he warned, waving his phone as if it were a weapon. “Last time, I swear, you nearly boiled the water dry while I was trying to figure out how to make instant noodles for dinner.” “Hey, those noodles were an experiment! I like to live dangerously,” I retorted, though I felt a small smile tugging at my lips. Judging by his expression I could tell he was fighting back a grin. “You’re brave for sure. But how about a quick break? Come on, just five minutes?” He was relentless, but not in a bad way. As I hesitated, he stood up and started doing some exaggerated stretches, arms reaching up dramatically while his legs did an awkward dance underneath the study table. His tricks were ridiculous but they always made me laugh. “Alright, you win. Five-minute break it is.” I admitted, shutting my laptop with a satisfying click.

“Now we’re talking!” He beamed, offering me a hand. As we moved to stand, I couldn’t help but feel grateful for him. He might have been done with his work but he was doing something just as important, keeping me grounded and aware that I didn’t have to suffer through this alone. Even if he was doing it while pretending to work. In that library, surrounded by peers lost in their own worlds, we shared a moment, a let off from the overwhelming feeling of academic pressure. And in the middle of the chaos that was our college life, it was all I needed.

@hearts4werka |

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[prodbyton]

i love Sungchan down, but i feel like he's the greatest contender for the "hot, but toxic ex" trope. like he was the woooorst boyfriend ever. i'm talking his toxicity was at its PEAK while y'all were dating. he made you stop seeing your friends bc they were "bad influences", so you only ever spent time with him. actually, you weren't allowed to talk to anyone that wasn't him. even when hanging out with his friends, he got pissed when you even looked their way. you never minded bc he was always so sweet and fucked you so good and said i love you every day.

that was until you caught Sungchan making out with some random girl at a party after he left you alone. you were so angry, but all you could do was cry as he apologized. you two practically lived together at this point, so you had to go home with him. he apologized that night in bed with what was probably the best sex of your life. you forgave him that same night. it took you 3 months to finally break up with him and 5 months to finally get over him. you went out with your friends to celebrate being over him. of course, your luck didn't last long.

when you spotted Sungchan across the club, a cold chill ran up your spine. you hated to admit how good he looked. you tried your best to ignore him as he walked over. he was a lot harder to ignore as he towered above you. he sounded like a broken record repeating how sorry he was and how much he missed and loved you. you acted like you couldn't hear him over the blaring music even though you heard him loud and clear. Sungchan pulled you into the bathroom to talk, but you knew deep down deep in your pussy that there wouldn't be much talking.

his apology lasted all but 5 minutes before he had you bent over the sink, your tight dress pulled up over your ass. it was hard to remember all the awful shit he had done when his hands were gripping your hits so tight. you didn't care about how he cheated on you as he fucked you nearly to tears. that was the first of many apologies from Sungchan that you hid from your friends. every time he apologized, he gained a little bit of your heart back.

-🎀 (shout out to bad idea! by girl in red and bad idea Right? by Olivia Rodrigo for having simlar titles and topics and giving me toxic!ex brain rot 😊)

im so super extremely late replying to this but i LOVE the toxic riize train…

it would be so hard to ignore him, not only for your lack of self restraint when it comes to sungchan but also for him knowing exactly what buttons to press and he's just so hot and so big how could you ignore him. after him bugging you for 10 minutes you finally give into him because maybe if you pretend to hear him out he'll leave you alone. the both of you were a bit drunk, not enough for you to not be aware of your surroundings, but just enough for you to make some not so smart decisions. that's how you end up in the club bathroom.

he pulled all the strings.

i miss you so much. im so sorry, i never wanted to hurt you. give me another chance. ive changed. i want us to be together. i'll be better for you. i want to have a family with you. will you forgive me? will you give us another shot?

all you could do was weakly nod your head, drunk and horny because god, it was so hard to listen to anything he said when he looked like that. maybe he did change, maybe you could give him a chance. but everything had to kept secret because if your friends found out you were fucking your ex who had you quite literally crying and throwing up? you'd get called stupid in every language.

sungchan would fuck you harder than he ever had in that club bathroom leaving you dizzy and unable to walk, so like the gentleman he is he offered to carry you and take you home. (where he would fuck you again)

he would say sorry over and over, and it became a reoccurring thing of him coming over, giving you the fuck of your life until you decided to take him a little bit serious. and if you two get back together it was a secret for the longest time until you were 100% sure you didn’t make a mistake giving him another chance </3

[lottieleers]

casual.

word count: 588

warnings: none

a/n: cross posted on ao3 so if you saw it there first hi again

everytime lottie matthews stepped into laura lees house, she felt an intense wave of shame. seeing all the crosses, the bibles scattered in nearly every room, it made her feel nauseous and lightheaded. to be in such a religious place while being so… sinful made her feel out of place, like a stranger despite the decade and a half shes known laura lee for. the blonde led lottie up to her room, an act that was so familiar it relaxed her slightly, and took a seat on her bed. as laura lee got comfortable, lottie stood there awkwardly before eventually walking over to the record player on the dresser — lottie had gotten her that for christmas four years ago �� and putting on the mazzy star vinyl laura lee had bought on their last mall date trip together. there were remnants of lottie scattered everywhere in laura lees room, from the vinyls she had next to her player to her closet where three of lotties old hoodies hung, it made her heart feel heavy. she didn’t know how much longer she could deal with it.

“lottie?” laura lee called out, a small pout on her lips. “you’ve been up here for ten minutes and we still haven’t done anything.”

lottie swallowed nervously, the act a subtle one, before walking over to the bed. “i-i know, lau… b-but don’t you think this is… wrong?”

laura lee looked at her in confusion. “what do you mean ‘wrong?’”

“w-well youre like super religious and i mean i-isn’t it a sin or whatever to kiss other girls?” lottie tried to remember everything she could from her mother’s time as a christian — a short lived thing, really — to use as an excuse to get out of… whatever her and laura lee were doing.

“it’s just practice, lottie, it’s not like we’re… having sex .” laura lee whispers the last part, an act that was incredulously ironic in the moment. “and it’s so we can be good kissers for when we get boyfriends!”

“boyfriends… right…” her voice came out hesitant. if only laura lee knew the truth.

“it’s only casual! it’s what friends do.” laura lee smiles wide. “jackie told me her and shauna practice kissing all the time!”

that made lotties eyes go wide. “practice…? laura lee i dont think theyre practicing…”

laura lee dismissed her words with a wave of her hand before patting the bed next to her “come on, lottie! i think ive almost got the hang of it now.”

she took a deep breath before taking a seat where laura lee had motioned to, her mouth dry and her heart racing. casual? was this casual? was it casual to practice kissing with your hyper-religious crush best friend? do girls do this nowadays? lottie had no idea. she barely had time to get her brain out of panic mode before laura lee kissed her, the action sending her right back to mentally freaking out. her lips were soft — they always were — and tasted like the vanilla honey chapstick she used. she smelled like lavender and her face felt amazing cradled between lotties hands. she hated this. she hated practicing. she hated the idea that laura lee was using her to please a man lottie might never meet. but she loved laura lee. and she would do anything to see her smile, even if that means swallowing down the bile that came up her throat at the thought of pretending like she didn’t wish she was a boy everytime she saw laura lee.

[mistydeyes]

building blocks and alphabet letters

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

summary: You and Kyle met in daycare. Contrary to popular belief, he wasn't quite the genius he was today. In fact, the first time he met you dad was when he was shoving toy blocks in his mouth. He hates that story but he'll make an exception for his young daughter who is terrified of school.

pairing: Gaz x fem!Reader (established relationship)

warnings: none :) just some good ol' fluff!

a/n: want more cute fluffy fics of the 141 being dads? I GOTCHU COVERED RIGHT HERE!! dad simon with two daughters has me hooked

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

You first met Kyle in daycare school. You couldn't have been more than 2 or so. This daycare took care of kids while their parents worked and tried to teach them something between snack time and playtime. Your father was with you that day and you had to show him what you learned over the school year. As you sat, perfectly pointing out each of the letters of the alphabet, you were distracted by another boy your age. "Honey, look over here," your father beckoned, trying to get your attention. But all you could pay attention to was the kid shoving blocks in his mouth while his mother helplessly tried to stop him.

Kyle hates that story with a passion. Every time you threaten to mention it, he gets red and demands you not to. To you though, it's cute seeing how his ears get pink and how he scrunches his nose. After 18 years of friendship and 7 years of dating, he's gotten used to your antics. This time, the story has a purpose. Instead of a drunk bar story, it's now something to relax your young daughter from her nerves about going to school.

By now your daughter was 4 and was frightened at the idea of leaving your familiar home. She was a spitting image of Kyle and loved the outdoors. You would always tease that Kyle was meant to be a girl dad. He was having a hard time now as he was trying to convince her to go tomorrow. "Ives, we talked about this, you're going to school tomorrow," Kyle began to say and you could see your daughter's lip begin to quiver. Kyle had been home for three weeks now and all your daughter wanted to do was spend time with the both of you. The last few weeks of trips to the cinema, the park, and going out to eat were coming to an end for her and it was apparent she was not happy about it.

"But I want to stay with Mummy and Daddy," she cried as she hugged you both tight. You gave Kyle a look of sadness at your daughter's wails. In between her tears, she choked out, "Daddy's never home I want to be here!" This time when you looked at Kyle, he wore the same expression of sadness.

"Sweetie, did I ever tell you how Mummy and I met?" Kyle asked and she turned to face him. As she wiped off her tears with her small hands, Kyle went into the story. "When I was only 2 years old, my Mummy and Daddy had to go to work and I couldn't stay at home," he began and had your daughter's full attention. She looked at him with her brown eyes and he sat her in his lap. "But it was okay because I met Mummy! She was the smartest kid there and we had so many adventures on the playground," you smiled fondly as he continued. "Mummy can tell you that Grandad thought I was an odd kid because I would shove blocks in my mouth, but Mummy was still my friend." he finished and gave you both a kiss on the forehead. "And look at Mummy and Daddy now! If I never went to school then I would never have met Daddy and we wouldn't have you," you finished and your daughter seemed to calm down. "Okay, only cause you went, I go," she said triumphantly and you three cheered in excitement.

Later that night when you put Ivy to bed, you and Kyle went downstairs to enjoy the rest of the night. "I didn't think you would ever tell her that story," you joked as you sat on the couch. "It was necessary," he replied and you both shared a laugh. "I still have the picture!" you said and scrolled to your phone to find it. In the photograph, sat you and your father smiling with an alphabet book and Kyle in the background, crying as his mother confiscated the blocks. "Never show anyone that," he jokingly threatened as he took your phone away. You got into a pillow fight as you fought over the picture and ended by resting on his chest again. "Mind telling that story again?" you asked and Kyle looked at you, curiously. "Never," he said and crossed his arms childishly. "Oh really? Not even for our second?" you smirked. It took Kyle all of two seconds to realize what you had just said. He embraced you and you told him you found out the news yesterday. As you lay in bed that night, Kyle thanked everything in the universe for letting you meet all those years ago.

[drpeppertummy]

@eructophile BULLYING my little guy

[ID: tags reading "[evil unrealistic brain voice] ok now put him in a bath that's hot enough to make them expand in his guts."]

this is the first thing ive written in 500 years its not very good pwease forgive me

[post-stuffing, bloating, tummyache]

"Alright, I can't eat any more," Morty whispered into the mic. "I was full, like, ten marshmallows ago." He rested a hand on his belly under the table and rubbed it gently, trying to soothe the gurgly queasiness that was blooming in his overstuffed stomach. He'd gone through more marshmallows than anybody had any business eating in one sitting for the sake of ASMR, and he felt like a living couch cushion, stuffed with fluff until his poor belly was firmly filled out. He supposed it wouldn't be a very comfortable cushion, though; it felt taut and hard under his hand.

"Thanks for watching, see you next time…" He rattled off his usual goodbyes, ended the video, and promptly flopped back in his seat with a heavy sigh. Looking down, he saw his full tummy poking out noticeably against the colorful fabric of his oversized sweater. It rumbled unhappily, and he rested both hands on it. He sat there for a few minutes, desperately wanting to leave the uncomfortable wooden chair behind but feeling far too stuffed to move, the silence of the kitchen interrupted periodically by the grumbling and gurgling of his aching tummy and the cold wind blowing outside.

Finally, with a groan, Morty pushed himself out of the chair. His stomach felt a dozen times tighter now that he was standing, and he held it cautiously, unable to hold back a tiny moan of discomfort. Not bothering to touch the lengthy video he'd recorded, he trudged off to the bathroom to run a bath. It was freezing out, and even indoors with his cozy sweater, the sound of the weather outside alone was enough to make him shiver. He hoped a hot bath might help soothe his sore tummy, but if nothing else, it would at least warm him up.

It occurred to Morty that waiting for the tub to fill would be a perfect opportunity to go back and start uploading his video, but now that he was seated on the edge of the tub, slumped against the wall, he simply couldn't find the strength to get up. Finally, though, the tub was as full as his aching stomach, and he clumsily undressed and eased himself in. The hot water enveloped him like a hug, and he let out a soft sigh. Morty hated being cold. If he had the choice, he'd gladly spend all of winter in bed wrapped up in blankets or dozing off in a hot bath. The warmth was comforting on his belly, too, and, after shifting around a little, he laid his head back and closed his eyes.

While the hot water had brought some relief to his overstuffed tummy at first, the comfort didn't last long. As he lay there, submerged save for his bony knees and his head, Morty became aware of an increasing feeling of bloatedness. He held his hands against his belly, brow furrowed with discomfort, and tried to burp. Only a tiny one came up. It didn't help. He tried again, desperate to alleviate the uncomfortable pressure, but to no avail. His stomach let out a strained groan. It felt absolutely stretched to its limit, and only seemed to be getting tighter. It was as if everything inside him was swelling up, expanding and bulging and filling out his already-stuffed tummy until the pressure was too much to handle. He opened his eyes and looked down. His belly pushed out comically from his skinny torso, almost threatening to break the surface of the water.

It finally occurred to Morty that the heat was making the contents of his stomach expand, and he supposed the smart thing to do would be to get out of the bath. The idea of leaving the comfort of the hot water and returning to the chilly air seemed immensely unpleasant, though, and he pondered how much more the enormous mass of marshmallow inside him could possibly swell. He ran a hand over his belly. It was drum-tight, and his stomach felt like it was straining to hold itself together.

Finally, Morty decided he couldn't take it anymore. His tummy felt stretched to bursting, and the discomfort of the cold seemed less daunting now than the discomfort he was currently enduring. Groaning, he pulled himself out of the tub and quickly wrapped himself in a towel, shivering. Leaving his clothes behind, he shuffled quickly to his room and hastily dried himself off before tossing the towel aside to pull on his pajamas. While his sweaters were all a few sizes too big, his pajamas were not, and the soft shirt barely covered his distended belly. He tugged at it, bewildered, then shrugged, wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, and trudged back to the kitchen to deal with his video.

[rassicas]

I think the concept behind Grizz is solid: a Former Bear who inadvertently Ship Of Theseus'd himself into Not Being A Bear Anymore ties neatly into the running theme of Judd and Lil Judd being the Only Mammals left: Mr. Grizz, whatever he is now, no longer counts as a mammal. But in execution... Yeah. They should have focused on the "Ship Of Theseus angle" and the fact that, in his attempts to bring back mammals, he's become more like the organisms that he's trying to destroy.

Ive gotten about a good few dozen comments on YT about this exact thing. but half of them being annoyingly condescending in the process for not bringing up this analysis in my Live (keyword live) reaction of me hating on the bear. i dont think ive really addressed how i feel about this particular thing because of how rude ppl were, but its been a while and youre being nice so long post incoming Anyway yes im very much aware of this 'ship of Theseus angle to grizz, I did see that "in defense of grizz" video. And honestly I do agree it is something about him that has interesting potential if they'd leaned into it more. Much of my distaste with the ending of ROTM is the build up and execution. They made the bear foreshadowing laughably obvious years too early, and then all the poor fools like me who care too much about splatoon's story had faith that "surely the splatoon team, who just made a story as surprising and serious as Octo Expansion, wouldn't handle foreshadowing the identity of their next major villain that badly" took the biggest L. IF the splatoon team had been more blatant that the Judds were the last mammals left throughout the series (the only time it was directly stated that all mammals were extinct before ROTM? in a dev interview. and for years nobody wanted to believe it whenever i tried bringing it up lmao.) if they weren't that on the nose about the bear imagery. if the only solid piece of deception they had about Grizz not being a bear in the entirety of splatoon canon wasn't in a paid artbook... if they were more deceptive about the fact, I'm sure i wouldve been a bit more accepting of the idea of him secretly being a bear from earlier on, and it would've been a cooler reveal. But surface level knowledge should be called into question by looking at the deeper evidence, not the other way around.

The ineffectiveness of the bear reveal is a culmination of Splatoon doing a frankly, bad job at putting whats supposed to be basic, important, worldbuilding knowledge in the game. I think the intended effect of the bear reveal was that the general audience of fans were supposed to have been like "woah, but all mammals are supposed to be all dead holy shit i cant believe hes a bear." and that info was supposed to put a wedge in the bear theories. but when 95% of the player-base anticipating splatoon 3 had no idea that all mammals (except the judds) are supposed to be extinct in the splatoon world and how that's an important part of its worldbuilding up until the announcement of the story mode, if at all...idk man thats pretty bad.

The way the info about mammal extinction was worded in the official news posts sounds like it was supposed to be common knowledge for Splatoon fans, not a surprise like it ended up being.

Anyway back to the execution, it would've been cooler if they'd leaned into that horror element, the fact that he's hardly even a mammal anymore. I think the implication is there. It is cool and fucked up in Splatoon's signature way! But again, I agree it would be better if it was played up or even acknowledged once directly, like in log.exe. Even with all the potential for bear Mr. Grizz to be cool, the years of too-blatant foreshadowing leading to a frustratingly disappointing reveal and the exact annoying plot holes i feared of has permanently soured the concept of him being a bear to me.